


For You

by shaylea



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Begging, Coping Mechanisms, Evil Ruby, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Love, M/M, Nightmares, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Top Dean/Bottom Sam, obviously, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 19:39:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14940584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaylea/pseuds/shaylea
Summary: All these years later Sam still has nightmares about Ruby, but Dean won't let him suffer through them alone.





	For You

 

Sam's desperate for her.  He needs her blood and even though it sickens him, he can't resist the craving.  She knows it, revels in the power she wields over him, her dark eyes glittering with the triumph that she, a demon, can bring the mighty Sam Winchester so low.

He grovels.  He actually grovels.  There is nothing he won't do, and she exploits that to the full.

"Have you been a good boy, though, Sam?" she purrs as she stalks around him, her head barely higher than his, despite the fact he's on his knees.  "Do you deserve this?"

Yes.  Yes, he does, because he's sunk so low that he deserves every moment of this mortifying punishment.  If only Dean knew how much it hurts, every time he drinks, every time he succumbs, then maybe he might begin to understand that Sam doesn't deserve any better than this.  But he knows the answer that Ruby wants, and he lowers his head submissively, the way she likes best.  "No, I don't deserve it."

"Yet you are demanding it anyway?"

"I'm asking."

"Asking?" 

Her tone slices through him and he quickly amends, "Begging.  I'm begging you, Ruby."

"Hmm."  She slides sharp little fingers through his hair and jerks his head backwards.  It's something she quickly learned that he likes, but done with derision it doesn't turn him on the same way as it used to when Dean tugged at it for the express purpose of making Sam feel good. 

No, stop thinking about Dean.  Don't bring him into this sordid mess. 

"Tell me why I should allow you to gorge on my blood."

This is a new pleasure of hers, and he forces himself to relax, sinking back so the awkward position she's holding him in eases slightly.  She's strong enough to keep him upright without his muscles helping her.  She's strong enough to do almost anything she likes to him, despite being half his size.  It feels wrong, unnatural.  The only person he's comfortable turning his body over to is Dean—but Dean no longer wants him.  Dean wants nothing to do with him, in fact.  He failed Dean, he failed to save him, failed to rescue him, and now fails to be the brother Dean raised and used to be proud of.  It's easy to give Ruby the reply she wants as he sinks into the horror of the magnitude of his failures.  "Because I am nothing without you, Ruby."

"That's right," she hisses, pulling him further backwards so he's bent almost horizontal to the ground, the muscles in his thighs rigid from the pressure.  "I'm the one who gives you life, the one who keeps you going.  The one you need."

He fights the scream rising in his throat as her fingers twist so tightly that unbidden tears spark in his eyes. 

"Who do you need, Sam?"

"Y-you."

"Who saves you?"

"You."

"And who hates you for that?"

No, he will not say Dean's name.  Not here. 

Her other hand closes over his throat, tightens.  "Who hates you, Sammy?"

"Please," he chokes.   "Please, Ruby—"

He can hold his breath for a long time, but not in this position, not while his throat is being crushed by tiny, ruthless fingers.

What if she kills him?  What if she forgets how human he is and obliterates him?

Would Dean realise then?

Sam doesn't choose Ruby over him.  And Sam isn't doing this unscathed.

Sam is doing this for Dean, and if it costs his life, well, he has nothing more to give.

 

 

*

 

 

“Sam.  Sammy, you’re okay.  It’s just me.”

Dean.  That’s Dean’s voice and what is Dean doing here—

Holding him.  Dean is holding him. 

Not Ruby.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Sammy.  C’mon, breathe for me.”

Dean’s hand is on his chest, gentle and light, the way they’ve practised after Sam researched into this.  He’s rubbing softly, fingers tangling in the hair Sam has and he doesn’t, and that mundane reminder wrenches away the last feel of Ruby’s hand around his throat.  This is Dean, and Ruby is long dead.  Dean killed her.  Even though Sam didn’t deserve it, Dean saved him.

For several minutes he focuses on taking deep, steady breaths, matching Dean’s until he can do it on his own without hitching and gasping.  Dean reaches for the towel he keeps beside their bed and Sam submits to his ministrations, allowing him to wipe away the sweat that’s an inevitable consequence of his nightmares.  It makes him feel thirty years younger, when Dean was able to stand between him and every monster.  Or so he’d believed.

Dean follows that up by holding up a glass of water for him to drink, then eases him back down into bed.  “You wanna talk about it?”

He does sometimes.  It took a long time.  He used to feel it would make it worse, speaking the horrors aloud, bringing them here into his and Dean’s safe space, but Dean needled and pushed and in the end infuriated him into bursting out with some of it, splattering it around their bedroom in a mess of broken words and sobs and curses, and to his surprise he felt better afterwards.  His second argument was that he didn’t want to burden Dean with the wreckage that makes up his memories, but Dean quickly dismantled that one, telling him that he’d been to literal hell and nothing Sam could say could be worse than that.  Sam’s been to a hell of his own, trapped with the devil himself, but he acknowledged Dean’s point and started to talk more often.  Not every time.  Not even most times.  But sometimes. 

“Not tonight,” he mutters, pulling Dean’s arm closer around him.  “Want you like this.”

Obligingly, Dean scoots closer, fitting his body around Sam’s back and legs and shoulders, so close Sam can feel his breath on the side of his neck.  It’s hot, just like Dean himself, which Sam needs now that the shivering phase of the aftermath has set in.

“I know it can't be easy for you seeing Lucifer again—”  Dean begins, and Sam stiffens.

“Said I don’t wanna talk.”

 “I’m just sayin’—”

“No.”

“You haven’t said anything since we saw him—”

“And I don’t plan to.” 

But Dean doesn’t get the hint.  “If you’re dreaming about him, Sam, then maybe you should.”

It would be so easy to lash out, to turn it around on Dean and point out all the shit that he’s repressing right now, especially about their mother’s rejection.  Sam can see exactly how that conversation would go, resulting in Dean getting mad and leaving their bed for the kitchen and some whiskey, and that’s not how he wants this to go down.  But that means he has to say something. 

“Sammy?”

“It wasn’t him.”

“Okay.”  Dean takes a moment to process that.  “You wanna tell me what it was?”

“No.”

“It was the worst one you’ve had in a while.  If not Lucifer…”  Dean pauses.  “Was it me?”

“You?”

“Been so violent lately.  Like when I was a demon, maybe, or had the mark.  Did I hurt you?”

Those are dreams Sam tries not to talk about.  “No!”

“You were crying my name, Sam.”

Shit.  “It was Ruby.”  The words come in a rush.  “No big deal.  Just her wanting—making me beg.”

“Beg?”

“For her blood.”  His voice is barely a whisper, laced with shame that hasn’t eased despite the years.  “She used to make me beg, and I did, Dean.  I did that.”

As usual, Dean doesn’t mouth any platitudes.  He never does, and that’s the only reason Sam can bear to talk about these things.  His hand on Sam’s chest continues to glide back and forth, making large sweeps until it comes to rest over one of his nipples.  He traces it lightly with a forefinger and Sam shivers.  “Want me to make you beg instead?  Beg for good things?”

“Dean.”  He’s not sure if it’s an objection or an encouragement.

“I’m the one who taught you to beg, who got you all hot and bothered and needy for me.  Remember?”

Sam does.  Nights pressed together in the back of the Impala, keeping their voices down below the tape John was listening to.  In dank motel rooms, fast and furtive in the bathroom or barely moving in a squeaky bed beside the wall.  Later, in similar motel rooms, loud and wild, paying off any neighbours who complained because Dean never wanted him to hide a single response after all their years of secrecy.  And now, in the privacy of their own underground home where Sam can scream with abandonment, if he needs to, free to proclaim the need Dean never fails to elicit in him.

Does he want to go there tonight?  After what he just dreamed about? 

Thrusting his nipple up into Dean’s calloused hand, he moans, low and deep, just the way Dean likes it.  “Make me beg for you.  Please, Dean.”

“You want me to touch you?”

“Yes.”

“But I am touching you.”

“More.”

Dean's palm scrapes over the crest of Sam's nipple.  “Like this?”

“Fuck you, Dean.”

“Whoa, that's quite some escalation.”

“You know what I mean,” Sam mutters, thrusting his chest up into Dean's hand.  “Touch me, damn it.”

Another teasing little caress.  “I am.  Can't you feel it?”

“Harder.”

Dean closes his fingers over one throbbing nipple and squeezes.  Hard.  Harder than Sam likes.  “Like that?”

“No!”  He doesn't grit his teeth and bear it.  That's one of Dean's rules, that if he ever does something Sam doesn't like, Sam has to tell him immediately and not pretend.  Instead, he flinches away.  “You know how I like it.”

“Tell me.”

He recognises what Dean's doing, engaging his brain with language and conversation to make sure he doesn't slip back into the memories the dream brought too close tonight.  He doesn't need to, Sam is a hundred percent here in the bunker, in their bedroom, years past the end of Ruby, wholly submerged in the heat of his brother's body and the joy he finds there.  But at the same time he's so grateful he wants to cry, so he lets a little sob of frustration out.  “Take my nipple between your fingers and squeeze firmly, not so hard it hurts.  Do both of them,” he instructs.  “Alternate pressure, and while you do that, kiss me.”

To get at his other nipple, Dean withdraws and turns him onto his back.  Sam goes easily.  This is one of his favourite positions, beneath Dean and looking up.  Dean settles over his body, hard and heavy.  If Sam were a girl, he'd be crushed beneath the weight of him, but he's not.  Instead he luxuriates in the bondage that is his brother's body holding him down.  Dean's eyes glint down at him, catching the light of the small lamp beside them, knowing exactly how Sam feels.

“You good?”

“You're not doing what I told you.”

In response, Dean slides down, rubbing his cock over Sam's as he goes.  Sam's not hard yet, not remotely, still trembling from the aftermath of shame, but Dean is and the proof of his desire for Sam is more reassurance than he should need. 

With a flash of his cheeky grin, Dean shimmies against him then lowers his head to suckle on the nipple he pinched so cruelly.

“Dean!”  Sam smacks the back of his head.  “That's not what I asked for.”

Dean moves to the other one.  “Better remind me.”

This is good, and normally he'd have no objection, but they're playing a game and he knows his part.  “Want your mouth on mine and your fingers on my nipples.”

“So good for me.”  The words float across his lips as Dean slides upwards again, barely audible, but he hears them and the sentiment behind them has him shivering just as much as the feel of Dean's mouth finally touching his. 

Dean means it.  Sam can believe that now.  In the past he'd have struggled, he used to think Dean just said what he thought Sam wanted to hear, but now he knows better.  Dean truly believes he is good.

“For you,” he avers into Dean's mouth, opening for Dean's questing tongue.  “F'you, Dean.”

As Dean takes ownership of the inside of his mouth, his fingers close around Sam's saliva-wet nipples.  After all these years he knows Sam's body perfectly, knows exactly how to press and tug in a rhythm that drives Sam crazy, keeping the pressure just before the point of pain, swirling his fingers around the tight, hard nubs, soothing their aching even as he creates it.

This time Sam's dick responds to the rub of Dean's hardness against it.  Between that and the pulsing pressure at his nipples and Dean's tongue playing over his lips and teeth, darting in to lick deep inside, Sam starts to moan.

“Yeah?” Dean murmurs into his mouth.  “You like that?”

“Mmm,” Sam says around the invading tongue. 

“You want my tongue somewhere else?”

Ideas flash through his mind.  Dean's appetite for food seems to extend to Sam's body.  He's spent hours licking Sam's skin, no inch of it left unexplored, investigating where Sam's most sensitive, where he's ticklish, what makes him gasp or cry out with need.  He knows Dean will demand a location and it's up to him to decide where he wants it most.

He settles for his most requested location, as Dean probably expects.  It would serve Dean right if he said somewhere else, but this is what he wants and that's what Dean's demand is tonight: that he identify what he wants so Dean can make him beg for it. 

“My hole.”  His voice sounds garbled as Dean kisses him through it, but Dean understands, chest vibrating with a soft chuckle.

“You want me to put my tongue in your tight little asshole, Sammy?”

“Yes.”

“Not here?”  Dean trails his tongue up to Sam's ear and flickers against the hollow behind it, one of Sam's most sensitive spots.

Sam holds firm.  “No.”

“Or here?”  Dean heads for Sam's collarbone, licking and nibbling along the way.

“No, my hole.  I want your tongue in my hole.”

“That's naughty, Sammy,” Dean lifts his head to say reprovingly, as though he wasn't the one to introduce Sam to that particular delight nearly two decades ago.  “Are you sure that's what you want?”

“Damn it, Dean.”

“Nuh-uh, those aren't the right words.  What did I teach you about being polite?”

“Please,” Sam grits out as Dean's nibbles head down the centre of his chest.  “I want your tongue in my hole,  _please_.”

He's rewarded by the swirl of the tongue in question into the dent of his bellybutton, another spot that threatens his sanity.  “Like this?”

Knowing Dean prefers honest responses, he doesn't hold back on his initial impulse to slam his fist into Dean's shoulder.  “My asshole, you asshole.”

That gets him Dean's dancing eyes on his before Dean deliberately catches some of the hairs on Sam's belly between his teeth and tugs. 

“Ow!”

“What did I say about being polite?”

Dean knows just how to drive him crazy and make him laugh and feel nothing but happy, amused exasperation, nothing like the crawling, cringing shame he woke up drowning in.  “I was polite.  You didn't listen.”

“This isn't being very polite.”  Dean nudges Sam's cock, now fully hard and poking him in the cheek. 

“It heard your plan and it's begging too.”

“Is it, now?”

Catching his breath, Sam stares at the ceiling as Dean ghosts his mouth around the head of his cock, the hot air from within Dean's lungs puffing out over his taut skin.  He could thrust up, Dean can take him despite his size, his throat well stretched by practice over the years, and right now Dean would probably let him get away with it, but Sam wants more. 

“Push my legs back,” he orders, “and lick my hole.  My asshole, Dean.”

A graze of teeth, then Dean pulls away.  Sam goes slack, glad for the yoga workouts he forces his ageing body through several times a week because they make it easy for Dean to fold him up, ass out and available for Dean's mouth.  There's something comforting about this position, body contorted into a ball so small, much smaller than Dean.  Clenching his fists in the sheet, he smiles at his brother through his legs. 

“Lick me.  Please.  I need your tongue in me.”

He sees the moment Dean decides not to tease him any longer, then his vision blurs and all his senses defer to the overwhelming sensation of Dean's eager wet tongue burrowing into the tight muscle of his hole.  His awareness of the rest of the world disappears, nothing existing but his brother opening him up in his most private, secret place that no other person should ever touch but that's always belonged to Dean.  Dean's tongue is indefatigable.  So far Sam's never been able to outlast its endurance as it licks into him and pushes its way inside.  They've tested it in the past but always he breaks first and tonight is no exception.

“Fuck me,” he hisses, straining to keep his desperate cock under control.  “Dean, stop.  I want you inside me when I come.  All the way inside.”

Their eyes meet when Dean lifts his head, and Dean nods.  “Can you wait for me?”

“No.  Need you now.  Right now.  No prep.”

“Sam—”

Sam doesn't like pain on his nipples but he likes it here, likes to be too tight so that he feels broken open by Dean's cock, torn apart by the only man who can hold him together regardless. 

“Now.  In me.  I'm already wet.”

“You need—”

“You.”  He sees Dean's eyes dart to the bedside table with the lube.  “No, just you.  All you.  Please.  Need you to force me open, to ram into me, hard as you can.  Make me feel it, Dean.  So hard.”

As a compromise, Dean drops down to add more spit, shoving his forefingers into Sam's hole to wrench it apart so he can dribble more deep down into Sam's body. 

Impatient, Sam reaches down to tug at his hair.  “Now!”

Dean obliges.  Tugging Sam closer, he presses down on the backs of his thighs, lines himself up, and pushes.

Hard.

Just as Sam requested.

It's way too soon but Sam's ready for that, pressing out, deliberately relaxing and opening for the invasion.  Dean's thick, stretching him wide, almost too wide but not quite because Sam's accustomed to this, to being split open on his brother's demanding cock.  Flexing, he manages another smile because Dean's gazing at him so seriously.

“'s good.”

“You're good,” Dean says, sweat visibly sliding down his temples with the effort it's taking him to keep this slow.  “Always so good, Sammy."

“Fuck me.”

“I'm gonna, just the way you deserve.”  One more shove and Dean's in, fully sheathed within Sam, home where he belongs.  “How's that?”

Sam's blood skitters around his body, celebrating the fact that even though it's been so tainted, over and over throughout his life, the blood it most resembles, his brother, still wants him this badly. 

He smiles again, beyond words now, and Dean smiles back, incongruous in the circumstances but just what Sam needs, the warmth and approval in Dean's eyes as heady as the stretch of his hole around Dean's cock.  Dean starts to move and Sam holds his gaze, letting his own eyes show everything he's feeling, just how grateful he is.  Despite Ruby, despite everything, Dean is still here with him, still wants him, still loves him.  And when it comes down to it, Sam is happy to beg for that for the rest of his life. 

 


End file.
